


Movie Night is for snogging anyways

by Rimbaum



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sloppy Makeouts, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimbaum/pseuds/Rimbaum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight is your night to pick the movie. You chose one with a few mixed reviews, hoping to see for yourself what all the fuss is about. John, predictably, is complaining every step of the way. Of course, the film is boring even to you, so you don't mind the distraction and banter too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night is for snogging anyways

Movie nights between the two of you are always filled with a certain amount of bickering. You take turns deciding the movies, and while John is fairly predictable in his choices, you opt for a wider variety. Sometimes he likes them, but he will always complain about every movie you bring.

You will never forget the time you got into an argument over Pan's Labyrinth. On reflection, perhaps it would have been best had you _not_ mentioned the theory that Ofelia had actually hallucinated the whole thing. John was genuinely upset and had wanted to believe in a happy ending. You couldn't blame him that, since you had not-so-secretly wished for the same after your first viewing of the film.

Tonight is your night to pick the movie. You chose one with a few mixed reviews, hoping to see for yourself what all the fuss is about. John, predictably, is complaining every step of the way. Of course, the film is boring even to you, so you don't mind the distraction and banter too much.

"Oh my god, Rose, can we _please_ watch something else? I'm so bored I'm going to fall asleep."

You look down at him, his head somewhat uncomfortable in your lap, and smile just a little when he stares up at you. "That merely sounds like a rather convenient excuse for you to bury your face into my crotch, given your current position."

"Rooooose, if I wanted to bury my face in your crotch I would've done it already, duh." For all that he complains about your movies, John is surprisingly reluctant to grasp the opportunity to make out. You're positive that the 20-foot Zazzerpan statue in your living room is entirely responsible.

You sigh as dramatically as you can and lean back on the couch. "John, dear, I'm afraid that if you have yet to take advantage of your fortuitous position, then I shall have to call off our engagement."

"Oh nooo, Rose, don't! That would be awful. Terrible. Look, this is my sad face." He looks up at you in some silly parody of puppy dog eyes, unable to keep himself from grinning.

"I am unmoved by your sad face, John. Convince me that I shouldn't return the tawdry imitation diamond ring you passed off as genuine when you got down on one knee. Honestly, in front of all those people. I'm quite certain they would be disappointed if they only knew."

He's laughing now, and it takes him a few moments to try and catch his breath enough to make a witty comeback. "Jeez, it's not my fault! The guy I bought it from said it was real. Who are you going to believe, Rose? The fancy-schmancy jeweler who made the appraisal, or the guy selling rings out of his trench coat on the street corner?"

You can't help but chuckle, but unlike John, you bring your hand up to your mouth to hide the fact that a: you are smiling and b: you are indeed laughing. It's all in vain, though, because he can feel you trembling as you try to hold back full force laughter.

He rolls onto his side, facing you. "Are you going to take full advantage of your position now?"

"Yup." He lifts your shirt up, and you start to push him away because you know _exactly_ what he's going to do.

"John, no, stop, wa—" Your words are cut off with a very undignified shriek as he blows a raspberry right on your stomach, and you devolve into outright giggling.

The bastard knows your weak spot. This calls for war.

You take full advantage of the fact that John is in your lap to reach down and tickle his sides. He lets out a surprisingly girlish scream (you'll have to comment on it at a later point) and curls up on himself. With all his ridiculous mangrit, you don't have much hope of prying him apart. You do, however, have the option of rolling him onto the floor, where he lands with a thud and a rather unnecessary string of profanity.

You're about to stand up and get some refreshments when he nearly literally pounces on you. At least, that's how it feels. "That was mean."

"As was causing a delicate, refined girl to lose her dignity."

"Pffft, I took your dignity two months ago."

"I think you're confusing 'dignity' with 'virginity,' John."

Finally, he leans in and kisses you, but not before you can tell that he's grinning. You sigh and relax, allowing him to his usual method of exploring your body with his hands. He doesn't much like to be touched as much in return, so you settle your arms around his shoulders.

As always, his hands linger at your breasts. While the stimulation is pleasant, it doesn't have nearly the effect on you as it does on him. "One would imagine that, despite your repeated claims to the contrary, you are still mentally a thirteen-year-old boy just discovering that women do, in fact, have large fleshy masses on their chests."

"Rose, that's gross. They're just boobs, call them what they are."

"The proper term is 'breasts,' John. And they are meant to feed infants, not amuse young men."

He snorts and rolls his eyes at that, removing his glasses and pressing his face rather firmly into your chest. When he speaks, it's so muffled you can't understand it, and you successfully suppress a shiver as his breath ghosts over your skin.

"You'll have to come up for air, seeing as I don't speak muffled nonsense. Shall I call my mother? She speaks garbled nonsense, I'm sure it's a related dialect."

The mention of your mother walking in on you is enough to get him to come up blushing. "Oh my god, seriously, don't mention your mom while I've got a face full of boob, Rose."

"Then tell me what you said while you had the aforementioned 'face full of boob.'"

"They're just... so soft and squishy!"

"Meanwhile, they make certain parts of _your_ anatomy rather the opposite."

"Oh my god. Rose. Just stop. Shut up. Right now, please."

"It's surprising how easily you blush when the topic of your own sexuality comes up. One would think that you are a virginal Catholic schoolgirl who has vowed chastity until she's married."

"Rose, shut up."

You smirk and continue to needle at him. It's not like John's probable reactions are very difficult to predict, after all. "John, I know your father sends you to a private school. Did you conveniently stop wearing your purity ring when we started dating? I'm scandalized. Your father must think me a harlot."

" _Rose_ , stop doing the thing where you analyze everything I say."

"Or perhaps it's the opposite? Did your father have a cake with a poignantly written note declaring his pride in your achievement? His little boy, all grown up."

You're almost surprised at the force he uses when kissing you. You may have touched on a particularly sensitive nerve there, and before John starts kissing you completely senseless, you file it away to bring up in a more honest and heartfelt conversation.

It's disappointing when John pulls away before he can push you down against the couch and start grinding his hips against yours. You were really hoping you could get him to go somewhere tonight. Alas, it seems as though Zazzerpan will win this round.

"You suck, Rose."

You raise an eyebrow, seeing an opening that is too good to pass up. "Is that a request?"

"… Yes. Yes it is."

Rose: 1, Zazzerpan: 0.


End file.
